Till Death Do Us Part
by Symphonious
Summary: The final fight between Street and Gamble under the Sixth Street Bridge. How it should have ended. GamblexStreet. If that's not your thing, nobody's making you read.


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Yeah… something very weird

Yeah… something very weird. I thought of it in the shower. But… Colin Farrell is just so sexy… I couldn't help it. And Jeremy Renner… oh, my god… shameless eye candy… Well, here goes.

The final fight between Gamble and Street under the Sixth Street Bridge… How it should have ended between them.

**TILL DEATH DO US PART**

A grunt escaped Jim's lips as hard knuckles connected with his cheekbone, and he felt himself being tackled down to the hard ground by a hot, heavy body which came to rest on top of him. A muffled animalistic growl sounded from the body above him, and Jim, with a sudden burst of rage, pushed against the muscled flesh, managing to switch the position of the two in battle. Gamble let out a harsh laugh as Jim's knees straddled his waist, and Jim didn't wait for another as his fist descended down on the traitor's nose. He heard a satisfying crunch followed by a hiss of pain and couldn't help an almost hysterical smirk. Suddenly, he was thrown down onto the gravel again, his spine and shoulder blades protesting against the stones that dug into his skin, and he mentally thanked the S.W.A.T. bullet-proof uniforms for the extra padding. Gamble didn't have the extra padding – Jim ripped it off earlier in the fight. He felt a foot slam into his skull, and he blacked out for a millisecond, fleetingly wondering where his helmet had gone.

_Damn…_ He thought, bizarrely still in control of his battered and bruised body, and completely unaware of the broken rib – the adrenaline still coursed through his veins, which were pumping furiously, sticking out of his forearms and biceps, protruding farther, stretching the skin as he got to his feet swiftly. His knees bent instinctively, and he rolled onto the front of his toes, his hands fisted in front of his face in a protective stance. He focused completely on the bloody face of his ex-partner, who's brilliantly blue eyes were shining with madness in the bright light of the street lamps far above them. Jim could still remember those same cerulean eyes glisten with excitement on their first mission as S.W.A.T. officers. He remembered those exact same eyes crinkle as their owner laughed at something Jim himself had said, and widen with interest as a particularly hot chick strutted by in a pair of heels. He could also remember those same eyes cloud with lust on those rare, sweaty nights after a gone-wrong mission, and those were the nights when Jim had let himself drown in those eyes as Gamble ravaged his body, letting out all the pain and frustration he kept hidden during the failed mission. And now, those eyes were filled with an insanity beyond description. Jim lunged forward.

His own brown eyes flashed angrily as one of his hands wrapped securely around Gamble's neck, pushing the man down as his knee came up to meet the speeding face. It happened in a strangely fast sort of slow motion, and Jim couldn't help snarling as Gamble dodged out of Jim's hold at the last second. The former let out another maniacal laugh, and jumped out of the way as Jim's foot shot out towards his head. He ducked, and out kicked his own leg, sliding both of Jim's from under him. The man landed heavily on the stones, his face colliding painfully with a metal rail, and he felt a tooth crack and leave his gums. Jim spit the bone out, his mouth filling up with blood as he rolled over onto his back, and let out a groan as a boot descended onto his throat, keeping him put on the ground. He panted, gasping out swears at the man above him, struggling against the heavy boot.

"You were always too soft, Jimbo," muttered Gamble, surveying Jim with a teasing glow in his maddened face. Jim spat at the pale man, his eyes quickly glancing towards the tattooed right forearm, on which was spelled '**GAMBLE**' in thick, black letters. His eyes traveled down that forearm, down to the boney hand in which a gun was held loose.

"Fuck off, asshole," Jim growled, and with another sudden burst of hatred, he attacked. His hands grabbed the booted foot in a vice-like grip, while his waist twisted to the left, and he crossed his ankles around Gamble's lower thigh. The man let out a gasp of surprise, and in his bewilderment, his foot lifted off Jim's throat. At that moment, Jim span his upper torso around, let go of the other man's foot, pushed himself up on his arms in a plank-like position with his legs up in the air, and pulled his ankles roughly to the right. Gamble's leg followed the movement, and he fell over onto his back. Jim was on top of him in an instant, the gun that fell out of Gamble's hand in his possession, with the barrel pressed against Gamble's forehead. With a flick of Jim's wrist, the weapon clicked and loaded.

Gamble was panting heavily, his lips scarlet with blood, with a red trail flowing down his chin. He was grinning, his teeth stained bloody, and his eyes still glistening with that same craziness. Jim grimaced in disgust at the sight in front of him, and resisted against the gag reflex deep in his throat. He had swallowed too much blood, knowing – from personal experience – that the human body can't digest blood. He heard Gamble chuckle.

"Always too soft," He muttered, his hand reaching up to brush against Jim's bruised and bloodied cheek. The latter jerked away, his hand still steady on the trigger. He felt a grim soft of satisfaction as he watched Gamble wince as he pressed the barrel harder into his head.

"Fuck off, asshole," Jim repeated menacingly, reaching out his free hand, and flipping Gamble the finger. Gamble laughed again. Jim's eyes narrowed. The man was playing – Jim knew this wasn't a game. Was he just stalling? Brown eyes narrowed further. Gamble just tilted his head to the side. Jim reacted instinctively and growled low in his throat, pressing the gun further into the other's skull. Gamble winced again. Jim smirked.

"You know," Gamble said casually, gazing at Jim as though they were still old buddies. "That was exactly what you said to me after the first night. Remember?"

Jim didn't react, and glared at the man below him while his mind raced through his memories. Oh, he remembered – _vividly._ He remembered Gamble expression as he suddenly jumped Jim in the showers after their first failure. His eyes were wide and determined, his jaw set, breaths coming in short rasps. He remembered asking what was wrong, but not getting enough time to finish his question when a rough, hot mouth descended onto his lips. He had been surprised at first, to say the least. To say the most, he nearly bashed Gamble's head through the shower wall and almost shoved the shower handle up the man's ass. But after that, it was blurry, and the only recollection he had was the blinding ecstasy that overwhelmed his mind and body. The little things that Gamble had whispered into his ear as he fucked him against the cold tiled wall…

"Oh, you remember…" That husky voice shook Jim out of his reverie, and chocolate eyes snapped towards pale cyan. "That look in your eyes…"

"Shut up," The words blew out of his throat in a gasp. His hands were shaking. Why was this affecting him so much? So they fucked – it didn't mean anything. It was just another way to blow off steam and let out locked up emotions. It meant nothing. "_Nothing._"

Gamble let out another infuriating chuckle. "Nothing?" He questioned, his tone mocking. "Oh, no, Jimmy. Not nothing. Never nothing." Jim didn't stop his free hand fisting, and crashed it shamelessly into the man's face.

"I said, _shut the fuck up_."

A low grunt sounded from the man on the ground, a thud echoed around the two as Gamble's head made contact with the train railing. Then, the man's eyes snapped wide open, and he tried to roll over, but Jim held him steady. He smashed another fist into Gamble's head, the gun now pointing at the man's still beating heart. Gamble spat, his saliva bright red with blood, and then a low sigh whistled past his bloodied lips.

"Do you remember what you promised me, Jimmy?" Gamble questioned, his voice low and threatening, and suddenly, his expression was livid. His head jerked to the side, and he stared at Jim, those ocean-like eyes glaring menacingly, almost looking past the battered shell, and into his mind. Jim didn't like it – he turned away.

"I never promised you anything, Brian." Jim muttered, now watching the light reflect off the dark metal rail. There were trains under the Sixth Street Bridge?

"Oh, yes, you did, brother," Jim heard Gamble mutter. "You did…"

A yell of surprise escaped Jim's throat as sudden pain bloomed on his chest, and it kept disappearing and re-appearing seconds later in different places as he found his way back to his feet. His arms shot out automatically to protect himself, while his hands fisted in front of his face. He opened his eyes, not remembering when they closed, and punched out blindly, feeling satisfied for the countless time in the last five minutes when his knuckles made contact with flesh. He was able to make out words, which were timed with every hit he received.

"You—" A punch. "—promised--" Another. "—me—" One more. "—that you wer—" Jim hissed, and jumped into the air, twisting himself so that both his feet were pointing towards Gamble's chest, and kicked out. The man staggered a few feet back and tripped, collapsing onto his back. Jim landed heavily onto his own, gasping and panting as he scrambled back to verticality. He leapt over a rail, just as a train clattered by, making lots of noise that did not register in Jim's blank brain. He had just made it past the moving black mass as Gamble leapt to his own unsteady feet. A gasp of air whistled into Gamble's air pipe, and he finished his sentence choppily. "… that you… weren't gonna… leave me… Re-remember?"

Jim couldn't help letting out a humorless bark of laughter. "You actually believed that bullshit?"

"Are you telling me you didn't mean it?" The reply was wheezed out. Jim didn't answer. He just stared at Gamble, who was staring defiantly back, his silver-blue eyes still glistening madly.

"Oh, yeah," Jim said after a moment. He stepped towards those blue eyes that had once kept him completely hypnotized, up until seven or so months ago, when Gamble decided to end their partnership. "I remember." Gamble stood his ground as Jim took another step. Trains clattered by on both sides of them but neither took notice of the moving masses of metal. They were now standing so close to each other that Jim could feel Gamble's heavy breath ghost over his face. "Till death do us part, right?" Jim didn't flinch as Gamble nodded and grabbed his face in a pair of rough, hot hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Instead, he succumbed, brown eyes slipping shut, but his hands fisted at his sides. He let Gamble take control, responding vaguely, letting out a small moan as Gamble's teeth nipped at his lip. And then he pulled away, ignoring Gamble's expression as he stepped back. He shifted a bit to the side, and Gamble turned his own body to face him. Those infuriating blue eyes were still watching him. _Ah, fuck…_

"Oh, I remember…" He hissed, and his foot snapped out, kicking both of Gamble's from under him. The man fell, his cyan eyes wide, and they stayed wide as his head crashed into the railing and a heavy metal wheel rolled over his skull. Gamble fell onto his side, his body jerking as a blood-curling crack echoed, the sound vibrating and reflecting against the still moving trains. Jim watched the body, staring at the corpse for a moment, before realizing what he has done. His face twisted in agony, and he collapsed to his knees, letting out a whimper. "Gamb—" and he buried his face in the hard gravel stones beneath him.

* * *

"Good job, Sanchez," Hondo said, patting the woman on her healthy shoulder as he passed the ambulance where her other shoulder was being treated. She smiled back at him, but winced slightly as the paramedic bandaged her arm, putting it in a sling. Hondo grinned back, and looked over the brightly lit bridge, where the moving shape of Street suddenly appeared under a streetlight, walking towards them. His face was bleeding, a black-eye was blooming, and he looked torn.

"You look like you need a Band-Aid," He told the man, but Street just stared him down for a moment before replying.

"Yeah, well, somebody needs a body-bag downstairs," He growled, not glancing over towards the bridge as Hondo expected him to. Street jumped a bit as Deke patted him on the shoulder.

"You alright, man?" He asked, and Street nodded.

"Yeah. You?" Deke nodded back in response. Hondo watched Street follow a medic back to an ambulance with a bewildered expression. As the man sat down, the sergeant heard him mutter, "Till death do us _fucking_ part."

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I liked that. I really did. I answer, that it probably… No, nevermind… Anyways. Tell me what YOU thought. Should I write a sequel from Gamble's point of view, or just leave it be, or re-do it completely. Flames are appreciated. Thanks!

Oh, and by the by, Colin Farrell and Jeremy Renner... SMOKING hot. Not even kidding. They make _fire_ stop, drop and roll.


End file.
